The Gospel of Sheba Read Online Free Page A

highest level is deeply satisfying and fatherhood still more so, I miss Lettie terribly. The romance which so bafflingly visited a bookish scholar’s life has departed, leaving bare halls with traces of magic swept away under carpeting. It has been so long since the early days of our marriage, when we lay entwined with the windows open, breakfasting upon stale bread and returning hastily to mussed bedclothes, hours lost in poetry and skin.
    It has been so very long since Lettie chose to stay .
    Tomorrow at least I shall have the distraction of the Brotherhood of Solomon. What on earth can the matter be with these people and their accursed new acquisition? I’ve been dying to discover the truth, and I don’t mind admitting it. One hopes that the morrow will reveal all.
    Letter sent from Mrs. Colette Lomax to Mr. A. Davenport Lomax, September 16th, 1902.
    Dearest,
    I fear that I write with as much speed as affection today. The sudden epidemic of stupidity which appears to have beset our company managers has led to our being double-booked: both at the theatre where we are paid to sing, and at the country home of a Bavarian duke who has decided that I am a better English interpreter of Germanic music than many of my predecessors, where we are not paid to sing .
    You can imagine I am both flattered and furious. But the Duke himself is charming enough despite being pasty and made all appropriate apologies for my being forced to attend a champagne fête when in a state of such exhaustion, so I suppose complaints are unworthy of me. The repast was admittedly beyond reproach—I haven’t tasted caviar this fine in a twelvemonth or more.
    More anon, love, and kiss Grace for me,
    Mrs. Colette Lomax
    Excerpt from the private journal of Mr. A. Davenport Lomax, September 16th, 1902.
    I’ve emerged victorious, with a terribly queer book upon my desk. But I shall tell it in order, I suppose, or never recall it correctly.
    Not having been there previous, I noted that the Savile Club is done in the traditional style, its walls teeming with textural flourishes and a quiet pomp in the mouldings accenting its ivory ceilings. Art abounds, as does crystal, as does the sort of furniture inviting terribly expensive trousers to be seated. There was quite a grand fire in the dining room we occupied, and the requisite set of picture-windows—all the details one expects when one comes from old money, not actually possessing any. But that is the lot of having a great many brothers, I suppose, and when one is younger, and a natural scientist, one is trusted to do well on one’s own. I arrived at ten minutes to eight, rather at a loss over introductions after handing away my coat. But I was prevented any awkwardness by Mr. Grange, who charged (well, made weak haste, anyhow) towards me within seconds.
    â€œMr. Lomax!” he cried. His complexion, previously grey, had gained a slight touch of pink in the week we were apart, though his appetite clearly had not returned and his upper lip twitched tremulously. “Just the man we wanted—here, may I present my friend Mr. Cornelius Pyatt, another investor like myself and the one who introduced me to the Brotherhood of Solomon.”
    As I entered the dining room fully, I shook hands with a sallow man of perhaps forty years with a calculating expression and a crow’s sable hair. Mr. Pyatt, according to Mr. Grange, likewise suffered the ghastly effects of The Book of Sheba , but he seems to have made a full recovery if so. His handshake was certainly firm enough, and his aspect one of clear, cutting focus.
    â€œDelighted to meet you, Mr. Lomax,” he professed. “I hear you’ve consented to get to the bottom of this business. And high time, too, though I am by now convinced we are dealing with mighty supernatural forces. I was quite prostrate with the effects of studying this volume some weeks ago.”
    â€œSo I have heard. I’m happy to see you are